


The Adventure Of The False Priest (The Andover Case)

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [9]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Andover, Cambridge, F/M, Illegitimacy, Inheritance, London, M/M, Religion, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Winchester (city)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 17:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people – but when they look set to keep happening, Sherlock takes measures that involve one of the most powerful ladies in London, a childhood memory and a handy bishop.





	The Adventure Of The False Priest (The Andover Case)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyster99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyster99/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

My brother Sherlock was often said to be a cold fish when it came to human emotions. Yet as his long relationship with Watson showed, he sometimes lowered his natural barriers to those he deemed worthy enough. And he was capable of showing great kindness – which more than one of his fellow students at Caius had good reason to be thankful for. At times like these he showed his best side..... oh Lord; Kean, the horny bastard, has just leant over me in trousers that should be illegal and muttered something about showing me _his_ best side! I shall have to adjourn to our room to have a Talk with him about that!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_(Narration by Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Esquire)_

It was often said that the different courses at Caius might as well have been on different planets for all that the students interacted with each other, a timely analogy as these events happened in the year that the two small moons orbiting the planet Mars were discovered. The lodgings of we chemistry students were almost completely isolated from those of students on other courses so we saw little of them. Hence the sudden appearance of a strange student in our rooms was most unusual. 

Mr. Edward Pelligrew was a cadaverous fellow, tall and blond with a monocle that he constantly adjusted. He was clearly nervous for some reason, so I invited him in and bade him sit down. He did so, and stared at me for at least a minute in silence.

“They say you're the fellow who solves crimes”, he blurted out suddenly.

“I have been known to apply my talents in that area”, I admitted. “Has something happened that you feel might interest me?”

“No”, he said to my surprise. “At least, not yet.”

I looked at him curiously.

“But you are afraid that something might happen”, I hazarded. “And as you most likely are a law student, it is clearly a legal matter.”

He looked at me in astonishment.

“How could you know that I am a law student?” he demanded.

“Elementary”, I smiled. “I heard you approaching this room from the east, and that way only lies accommodation for law students.”

“Oh”, he said. “I can only hope you can solve the matter I have as easily, then. It is all a bit.... delicate.”

I did not like that word at all.

“'Delicate' in what way?” I inquired. He blushed fiercely.

“My father is a solicitor at Hammond, Soubry & Rudd”, he said.

I was on my guard at once.

“The late Lord Toby Hawke's lawyers?” I inquired coldly. He clearly picked up on my annoyance and hurried on.

“Yes”, he said, seemingly and very suddenly fascinated by the floor. “And yes. It does concern..... him.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I had been five years old at the time; indeed this was possibly my earliest memory in life. We were in Montpellier and Sherry, then fourteen, had come home from school and had brought with him a fellow Englishman from his class, a dour chap called Theobald Hawke. I had thought little of the man – mother had brought cake which had interested me infinitely more - until Master Hawke's elder brother arrived to collect him. Lord Toby Hawke was at nineteen young, blond, athletic and handsome in the traditional Greek way that made ladies sigh and gentlemen wish that he were far, far away from their ladies, or at least that they themselves could stop being gentlemen for a while. Lord Toby even spoke to me as an adult, which was good of him and a rare experience for me. Children remember such things.

I was never to see the young god again, although it would be many years before I was to know why. When I asked after him one time I was told by my father never to mention his name in his house. I was sure that someone as wonderful as Lord Toby could not have done anything wrong and, once Mycroft had obtained a position in the government I asked him to find out for me. He came back saying that he had been unsuccessful, cynically (as in correctly) I distrusted him and with some effort I eventually got Sherry to tell me the sad truth.

At the time he had been visiting us Lord Toby Hawke had been engaged to a Miss Jennifer Myrne-Green, younger daughter of the Duke of Pulborough. They were to be married three months later, but it had all gone horribly wrong. Miss Myrne-Green was secretly enamoured of an older gentleman called Mr. Milton Carew, and the two of them duly eloped – the day before the wedding! By the time they had been found some four months later he had abandoned her and she was pregnant with his child. The social disgrace was too much for Lord Toby, who had blown his brains out shortly after their discovery. Mr. Carew had fled to the United States but, in a belated outbreak of karma, his ship had sunk on the way there. His short-lived wife miscarried and died, oddly enough on the same day news of her husband's own death had reached her.

Sherry also told me that in his opinion the actions of a lowly clerk at the Hawke family solicitors mentioned earlier in this story in revealing the full horror of events to poor Lord Toby when his family had not wished it had not helped matters; the clerk in question was quite rightly fired from his post. And now a gentleman with a link to the guilty firm was here seeking my help!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“What is it you want?” I said, more than a little brusquely. Mr. Pelligrew looked pained.

“It is difficult to explain”, he said evasively. “Have you met Lord Theobald Hawke, by any chance?”

“Only when I was much younger”, I said. “I did hear that he had married, though I do not know who to.”

“That is part of the problem”, my fellow student sighed. “Lady Gabriella is unable to have children, so there is the problem of who would inherit the title.”

“And that is?” I asked.

An interesting observation; even those in the legal profession find it hard not to hesitate before framing a lie. Or even a half-truth.

“His cousin Mr. Harry Buckingham”, Mr. Pelligrew said. “Lord Theobald had two aunts and both married late in life, the elder one Mary to a Hampshire tradesman called Henry Buckingham. Harry is their only son.”

I thought for a moment. A test, perhaps.

“Would you require me to go down to Andover at all?” I asked casually.

“I would hope to spare you the trouble”, he said. 

That time his reaction had been a little too quick. There was more to this matter than he was saying, but I would have to be careful in finding out what that was, if only for the memory of poor Lord Toby.

“So what is the problem with this Mr. Harry Buckingham?” I asked. “I do not even know his age.”

“He is not yet eighteen”, Mr. Pelligrew said. “Despite not being a Hawke by name he is very much the image of his late grandfather Lord Marcus, whom Lord Tobias also took after.”

I did actually know Lord Marcus, a rather vain fellow whose massive portrait had been 'given' to the National Gallery where I had seen it one time. I remember suspecting that it had been a rather unwelcome 'gift', and unfortunately not one that the recipient could exchange for something better. Although I doubted that short of putting it into storage they could have found a darker room in which to display the monstrosity.

“Go on”, I said.

“Lord Theobald has not been well of late”, my visitor said, “and has been worried about the succession. A clause in the estate rules mean that anyone who inherits has to be a Protestant. However Mr. Harry Buckingham has recently made the acquaintance of a Jesuit priest, a Father Humilis, whom I believe seeks to convert him.”

“He would give up the Hawke estate for religion?” I asked, surprised.

“He is a very earnest young gentleman”, Mr. Pelligrew said. “And he will inherit his father's business one day, which would most likely be more than enough for his needs. He well might.”

“So to the obvious question”, I said. _”Cui bono?_ Who is next in line after Mr. Harry Buckingham?”

“That is where it gets even more difficult”, Mr. Pelligrew sighed. “Mr. Harry's aunt Elizabeth, the youngest of Lord Marcus' four children, married twice. Her first marriage which was ill-starred from the outset was to a Mr. Simeon Simmonds. A most unpleasant fellow who actually struck her, would you believe? I cannot understand how it got as far as the altar myself, but it was dissolved within a threemonth. Some little time after she married a much more respectable gentleman called Mr. Kevin Newcastle, a businessman from the North of England. They have four children; a boy William who is twelve, a girl named after her mother who is ten and the twins Kevin and Kingsley who are six.”

I wondered at that.

“Did the family oppose the first union?” I asked.

“Very strongly”, he said. “Fortunately the girl saw through the man once they had been wed so all was well in the end. Unfortunately the rat is still around, and he has recently tried to claim that the marriage was never formally dissolved. Utter hogwash of course, but if it were true it would thereby invalidate the claims of William and little Eliza.”

“I suppose that the family have tried to pay him off?” I ventured.

Judging from the man's red face, that particular surmise was correct.

“In the unlikely event that such a claim stood up in court, the next in line would be the late Lord Marcus' only brother, Lord. David”, he said, obviously eager to move on. “He is nearly sixty, but has four sons of his own to continue the lineage and of course they are all Hawkes. I have wondered if he is behind this turbulent priest, as some of his business transactions have been.... interesting.”

Borderline illegal, I translated.

“The last turbulent priest was poor Thomas Becket”, I said. “Let us hope that this matter ends rather less bloodily!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

After giving the matter some considerable thought I decided to approach my fellow student Mr. Ivan Khrushnic, whose family I had assisted in the matter of the stolen painting. He looked surprised at my request but nodded.

“It _is_ London”, he said, “so yes, there is such a place. Middleton's is far and away the best information agency around. They charge the earth, but they have never failed to come through on the few occasions that we have required their services.”

“Would they assist me?” I wondered.

“I shall give you one of my cards”, he said. “That should suffice as an introduction.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

A few days later I was in a nondescript street in Euston, looking up rather dubiously at a small house that did not look anything like the centre of an information empire. Then again, perhaps that was the idea.

Inside it was very much like the sort of lower- to middle-class small family home up and down the country. A manservant took my coat and bade me wait until he saw if the master of the house was in. Mr. Khrushnic had told me that Mr. William Middleton hardly ever saw anyone himself but had a number of people under him who attended to such matters. Sure enough, I was shown up to what was clearly some sort of secretary's office some little time later, and presented to Miss Richards, a sharp-looking lady of about thirty-five years of age. She looked long and hard at me before smiling slightly.

“You are Mr. Sherlock Holmes”, she said. “You are taking chemistry at Caius College in Cambridge and solve crimes for a hobby, which latter is somewhat unusual. What would you ask of our organization?”

I explained the situation as regarded the Hawkes and she nodded.

“Yes, I too was fortunate enough to meet young Lord Tobias before his tragic end”, she said. “A grievous loss to humanity, and a most unnecessary one. You are investigating this relative of his?”

I took a deep breath.

“It is like this, madam”, I said. “I can see two likely explanations for what is happening down in Hampshire at this time. The first I do not like much, but I feel that it would be resolvable with care. The second is much more serious, especially given Lord Theobald Hawke's state of health just now.”

“I shall ask the obvious question”, she said. “Why do you not go to Andover yourself?”

“Because if the second of those hypotheses is correct”, I said, “and regretfully it is the one I incline towards, then I fear that my presence might be the end of poor Lord Theobald. The man has suffered enough of late in my opinion.”

“Yes, I see your point”, she said. “We are of course a metropolitan organization, but I have several gentlemen – and ladies - who are prepared to travel to the provinces. I shall dispatch one there tomorrow to make inquiries. I shall contact you by letter of course; I hardly think what I may communicate is fit for a telegram.”

“Thank you”, I smiled. “Without being too indelicate, may I inquire as to how much it might cost me?”

She thought for a moment.

“Lord Tobias was, as I said, a great loss”, she said. “His family has surely suffered enough as it is. I must say, Mr. Holmes you do intrigue me. I see from the card you brought with you that Mr. Khrusnic has availed himself of your services which, whether intentional or no, was a most advisable move for someone who may start annoying the people that your investigations are likely to annoy. Tell me what you know about Mr. Middleton.”

I smiled slightly. 

“I have at least three reasons to suspect that I am talking with him right now.”

She did not even blink an eyelid. The lady was good..

“What makes you say that?” she asked politely.

“Well, let us first consider the need for his existence”, I said. “Far too many gentlemen consider that ladies are incapable of holding any important position in any organization, despite the fact that they then have to ignore the rather inconvenient truth that we happen to have one as head of state. The noble Queen apart however, I doubt that Middleton's would have achieved the high standing that Mr. Khrushnic and his son hold it in was it known that a 'mere woman' was in charge. It is unfortunate but one must deal with what is, not what one wishes the world to be.”

“Go on”, she said. 

“I observed the coat-stand over by the door into what purports to be Mr. Middleton's office”, I said. “In particular, that highly effective ridged mat next to the shoe-stand that adjoins it. The gentleman's coat which hangs over it is totally dry and, significantly, so is the mat. I have one in my rooms at college and it retains moisture dripped onto it for many hours. Given both the weather and the current time, 'Mr. Middleton' would have had to have worked almost through the night for the mat to have lost all the water from the rain outside.”

She smiled slightly.

“And the third thing?” she asked. I pointed to her own feet under the desk.

“You clearly walked part of the way to work this morning”, I said, “and passed by where they are repairing the rather handsome Georgian building further down the road. As well as the dust on your shoes, there is the faintest of trails of it leading from the door in to the office door over there – but why would you walk to _that_ door first upon arrival? Most secretaries would go through any messages that had been left on their own desk, or at least collect their notepad before approaching their employer.”

She chuckled.

“I can see that you are going to be a problem for me one day, Mr. Holmes”, she said almost playfully. “I shall be pleased to look into this matter for you, and since you are so talented I shall do so free of charge. How long are you in the capital?”

“Until next Sunday”, I said. “It is half-term.”

“I will have something for you by then”, she said confidently. “We shall arrange to meet provisionally on Saturday at half-past nine in the morning; I shall apprise you if it can be sooner.”

I thanked the remarkable lady and bowed myself out.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I had no doubts that Miss Richards would come through for me in this, and she did, summoning me to her office the following Thursday. Unfortunately the news was not good. 

“What will you do?” she asked anxiously. 

“The first thing is to deal with this so-called priest”, I said. “Is he really in orders?”

“Not as such”, she said. “He was thrown out of the Catholic Church for stealing, so set up his own church. As such he can _claim_ to be a priest, although I doubt that he has revealed such niceties to his victim; one can achieve almost as much by not telling the whole truth as actually resorting to lying.”

“I would like to see Mr. Harry Buckingham without poor Lord Theobald having to be made aware of that”, I said. “Would you know how I might manage it?”

Miss Richards nodded.

“He visits the priest at a small Catholic church in Winchester from time to time”, she said. She passed over a small card to me. “And you may find it useful to take this gentleman with you when you go.”

I read the name on the card – Mr. James Danell - and smiled.

“Thank you”, I said fervently.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Some two days later I travelled down to Winchester with my companion, a fifty-four year-old gentleman not in the best of health but willing and eager to help in the task ahead. The ancient capital of England was a charming place, but for the moment we eschewed its attractions for a small chapel in a side-street not far from the great cathedral. 

The two of us entered the dimly-lit building. A Catholic protest was reading from behind a lectern at the far end, and a single worshipper with a capon over his head was sat quietly in the first row not far from him. I heard a gasp from the gentleman beside me.

“Darling!”

It may have seemed an odd thing for him to say, but the effect on the priest was electric. He stared at us both in horror.

“Boss! I mean....”

I grinned. At that moment a second priest, white-haired and elderly, emerged from a side-room.

“What is going on?” he asked plaintively, before gasping as he too recognized the gentleman standing next to me. Well he might as it was his superior, the Bishop of Southwark.

“Sir?”

“What are you doing, allowing a defrocked priest into this holy place?” the bishop demanded. The older man's face turned even paler.

“Defrocked?” he gasped.

“I did it myself!” the bishop said hotly. “Stealing from the poor box was only one of his crimes; I had thought the Holy Mother Church to be well rid of the pest. And now he is here!”

“Well, I.... oof!”

The elderly priest gasped as the interloper suddenly sprinted for the side-door.

“After him!” the bishop urged.

“Do not worry”, I reassured him. “I wired the Hampshire Constabulary before we arrived, and checked before we came in. They have men outside both the doors.”

I was feeling pleased with myself at having exposed a crook in this way, so what happened next came as a terrible if perhaps deserved shock. The single worshipper stood up and removed his capon, then turned to face us. He was, as I had guessed, Mr. Harry Buckingham and....

I could not suppress the gasp. He was the image of his..... of the late Lord Toby Hawke!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The police duly did their job and the cells at Winchester's police station soon had an extra occupant.

“What I wish to know”, Mr. Buckingham said later as we sat over coffee at a small restaurant just outside the cathedral, “is _why_ he did it.”

I was having hard work to hide my feelings at this point. It was like I was this boisterous five-year-old once more, and this beautiful Greek god of a man was sat opposite me. And I remembered what had happened to poor Lord Toby soon after. I shuddered despite the warm day.

“I am afraid that I must reveal a familial scandal to you”, I said. “It concerns your aunt Elizabeth.”

“She is a good lady”, the young man said hotly.

“But one determined to have her own way”, I said, “whatever the price. When she met a man whom she knew her family would not accept, she acted with great cunning. She introduced him to them as a Mr. Simeon Simmonds, and as she had expected they rejected him outright. After an elopement and a short-lived marriage she conceded that they had been right and agreed to leave him, and almost immediately married a much more agreeable fellow called Mr. Kevin Newcastle.”

“I know all this”, the young man said.

“What you do not know is that Mr. Simeon Simmonds and Mr. Kevin Newcastle are in fact one and the same person”, I said. “Mr. Newcastle is his real name; Mr. Simmonds's sole purpose was to enable him to marry your aunt as the lesser of two evils. But he aimed much higher. He knew that if you converted to the Catholic Faith before you married, then you would lose your inheritance, and his wife would be next in line. And since a wife's property is mostly still that of her husband, he would become immensely rich.”

“The blackguard!” the young man said fiercely.

“Indeed”, I said. “He also took the precaution of threatening the reappearance of the unwanted first husband, to further divert any suspicion that may have arisen. I have a request to make of you, young sir.”

_(It seemed odd calling him that, because part of me was still that five-year-old hero-worshipping the image of this gentleman across our kitchen table, whilst in reality I was talking to a fellow four years my junior.)_

“Of course”, he said.

“I would like to be the one to break this to Lord Theobald”, I said. “I have all the official documents which, I feel, I would be able to explain to him beforehand so as to soften the blow.”

“I know how much my dear uncle feels about family”, the boy smiled. “Yes, that would be fine.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Lord Theobald's house lay a little way south of Andover so I took a carriage there from Winchester. I was duly admitted and was able to explain matters to him well enough. He looked at me sharply.

“I am to take it”, he said, “that if you have found out one thing about my family's recent history, you have found out two?”

“The minute I saw Mr. Buckingham, I knew exactly who his father really was”, I said. “It must have been a shock, your brother leaving you such an unexpected legacy.”

The nobleman nodded.

“Poor Toby went to pieces after that harlot left him”, he said. “He... well, as they say, it only takes one time. A lady whom he had slept with came to me a few months later; he had given her a signed letter confirming their child was his, and after she died in childbirth I had to take the boy in for Toby's sake. Mary and Henry raised him as their own and as he grew up – as you said, the evidence is right there in his face.”

“Were there no paintings of your brother?” I wondered.

“I put them all into storage”, he said. “I told everyone that there were too many sad memories. I had them moved later; I could not risk Harry seeing them and making the connection.”

“You have my solemn word that I will never tell him this”, I said firmly. “I know that they say truth will out, but he deserves every effort being made so he can become what his father – his real father – could and should have been.”

“For that you have my eternal thanks”, the nobleman smiled.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Mr. Newcastle, alias Mr. Simmonds, fled the country when his ramp was exposed, and had the good grace not to show his face in England ever again. His abandoned wife was mortified at her ramp being exposed and also left for parts distant; I do not think she was missed by anyone. I do not know what happened to 'Father Humilis', who after a spell in gaol was last reported to have gone to London (hopefully the bottom of the Thames, if there was any justice). And I had not seen the last of Mr. Harry Buckingham either, for he would reappear in two further adventures of mine, as I strove to keep from him the sad truth about his past.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
